Fairytale
by Jacinda
Summary: Nick spent seven good years in Vegas followed by two bad years. Nick spent another year chasing Sara. Sometimes the fairytale doesn't work out the way you want it to. (NS with a lot of Nick angst - Rated for language) FIN
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This is an idea that I've been thinking about for awhile. Let me know if you all think I should continue. -Jac

* * *

If he had known that the fairytale would end this way, he might have never opened the book. Granted it that the fairytale had become more of a ten year saga rather than the happily every after he once imagined. As he looked back, he would have given up all this to have it be a million yesterdays ago. 

He never dreamt that he would call Las Vegas home. He stands in the airport terminal waiting to go home . . . to get as far away from here as possible.

Nick's POV:

I spent seven of the best years of my life in Las Vegas. I spent two of the most hurtful and hideous years in Las Vegas. The transition from good to bad wasn't slow. It was as dramatic as black and white. I left work one night knowing that the crime lab would never be the same again. That night marked the beginning of two years of utter hell. It marked the first time I really hated my job . . . I really regretted coming to Las Vegas so many years ago.

I idolized Grissom for so many years. It was more of a 'hero worship' than I ever intended it to be. I wanted nothing more than to be as brilliant as Grissom. I wanted to help people the way that Grissom did. I spent so many years trying to aspire to be the man that I put on a pedestal higher than my father and my grandfather. They were the three greatest men that I had ever known, but people have a tendency to fall from high pedestals.

My perception of Grissom didn't change as rapidly as the climate of the lab. I didn't wake up one morning hating Grissom for all that he had done. It was so much slower. It happened so slow that I was able to deny my feelings for weeks, if not months.

I watched the way that Grissom toyed with Sara. I watched Sara try to make herself more and more perfect for Grissom. I watched Sara's perfection drive herself into an alcoholic oblivion. Each time Sara tried to pull herself out, Grissom did something to drive her back into the hole he pushed her into so many years ago.

I watched Grissom carry on with Sophia. I don't know if he ever really loved Sophia, or if it was just a convenient way to get to Sara. I like to think that maybe he did love Sophia . . . maybe Grissom put Sara on a pedestal that was just a little too high. I watched Grissom push Sara away. I watched him confine her to the lab and put Sara on an endless number of suspensions. I watched him yell at her until I could see the tears running down her cheeks. It made me wonder what changed between them. I asked Sara once . . . she refused to answer.

Sara and I had always had a relatively strong friendship. We trained together for the yearly marathon. I had inadvertently taken her out for drinks during the early phases of her alcoholism. I could talk to her; she was the only one of my coworkers that made me feel safe enough to bear all the demons that I carried around with me. I woke up one morning and realized that I loved her. I loved her for what she was and what she wasn't. I loved her so much more than Grissom could ever let himself love her, but she loved him. I watched her love someone that didn't want to have her. I watched it slowly drive her insane.

Grissom had so many opportunities to love and to be loved . . . the forensic anthropologist, Lady Heather, Catherine, Sara, Sophia. I was convinced that there was something wrong with him. I couldn't imagine spending my entire life alone. I couldn't imagine stringing along another person for a lifetime. I watch Grissom's pedestal crumble.

There came a day that Sara ran. She just needed to get away from Grissom and his hold on her. She left the same way that she came. Sara disappeared into the night. She left a letter in my mailbox.

_Nick, _

_I know it's not fair for me to leave like this, but I need to start figuring out who I am. I need to figure out who I am without Grissom. I need to learn that I'm still an okay person even if he doesn't treat me like I am._

_You've been a good friend to me. Grissom might have been my reason for coming to Vegas, but I stayed because of you, Warrick, and Greg. Take care of Greg . . . no one else on nights will. Take care of yourself. Maybe someday I'll be ready to come back._

_Love,_

_Sara_

I quit my job the next day. I spent a year chasing Sara across the country. I spent nine years waiting for her to come home.


	2. Finalities

"So what you are saying is that there isn't anything going on between you and Grissom?" I asked to clarify. Sara leaned heavily against her locker. She stopped trying to conceal the tears running down her face about five minutes ago. She asked me to watch the door. Sara didn't want anyone walking in on her brief moments of anger and hurt.

"It's nothing, Nick," Sara said softly.

"I'd like to believe you, but I think the whole lab knows that he's pissed at you for putting in for a transfer to day shift," I said softly. This wasn't the first time that I had played look-out for Sara. These fights were becoming more and more common. Grissom and Sara seemed to lock horns about every case they worked together. The fights were absolutely ridiculous. They normally stemmed from Sara's desire to work in the field and Grissom's desire to keep Sara in the lab. I was stunned that Grissom would try to keep Sara from doing what she did best. It seemed stupid to keep Sara locked up in trace helping Hodges. It made me wonder what exactly was going on.

The topic was a taboo in the lab. Greg refused to talk about work with me and Warrick anymore. Rumors frequently implied that Greg was looking for employment in another city or on another shift. Catherine wasn't crazy about taking on a CSI 1, so she passed on Greg. The day shift didn't have open positions. It made me even more curious about what had changed so dramatically in the nightshift.

"You do what you have to do," Sara replied in a monotone voice that made me turn around to see if I was actually talking to Sara Sidle.

"Sar, I'm worried about you. I'm worried about what Grissom is doing to you. I want to help you," I said as I help my position by the door. I knew it wasn't safe to approach Sara until the tears had stopped. I was lucky that the tears normally stopped quickly.

"Nick, I just need a change of scenery. I need to scratch a seven year itch," Sara replied.

"Then take a vacation. You have weeks of vacation days piled up. Take a month off," I replied. Sara shook her head.

"I don't think a month off is going to fix this," Sara replied as she wiped the last of her tears from her face, "Do you want to go running this afternoon?"

"I'd rather you tell me what's been going on with you and Grissom," I challenged.

"Nick, you don't want to know," Sara replied.

"Why don't I want to know?" I asked as I approached her. She stepped back. It scared me that I had somehow managed to frighten her. "Sar, let me help you."

"Nick, there's nothing anyone can do to help me. The only thing I can do is leave," Sara replied as she tried to walk pass me. She became frustrated when I wouldn't let her. I wasn't one to become confrontational, but I didn't want her to leave. I didn't think I could live with myself if I let her walk away from. I had in no uncertain terms fallen in love with her. The more fragile she got, the more I loved her. She didn't know it, but I would have done anything she asked to help her . . . to make her better.

"Sar, don't leave because of Grissom," I pleaded. Sara smiled.

"I probably won't be leaving. Grissom isn't going to sign my transfer request," Sara said with a false smile. I could see through it the minute she plastered it on her face.

"What time this afternoon?" I asked as I finally relented.

"How about two at my apartment?" Sara offered.

"Okay, Sar. I'll see you then," I replied. I didn't know that our jog together would be the last time I saw Sara.

My sleep was fitful that morning. I kept having the same dream I always had when I heard that Sara put in a for a transfer request. It was the one where I was running through McCarren Airport trying to catch Sara before she got on a plane to God knows where. I would run through the airport until I found a woman that looked like Sara, but when she turned around it wasn't her. That's when I would wake up in a cold sweat. I knew that I was losing her. I just didn't realize that it would come sooner than I expected it to.

We ran together for nearly an hour. Sara was determined to improve her seven mile time for the marathon this year. I had to struggle to keep up with her long, quick stride. When we stopped, I was sure that I was going to have a heart attack. Sara looked as if she could have used her anger and hurt to run for another seven miles. It's what fueled her. I knew that. I knew that all she had left was anger.

"You want to get some lunch before I have to leave for work?" I asked her as we retreated into her apartment for shade and water.

"Not today. I haven't gone to bed yet," Sara replied. We continued our conversation that same way all our conversations seemed to go. I'd tease or flirt with her. She'd do the same back. She'd threaten to walk in on me while I was showering; if only she knew, that I had been waiting for her to do that for years. I didn't dare to that to her. I wasn't sure if she'd ever be receptive to the idea of being something more than my friend.

Work was the same as normal that night. In retrospect, I should have known the minute that I heard Sara called in sick that she was leaving. I just didn't think anything of it until I found her letter. Then, I felt guilty that I didn't call her . . . that I didn't beg her to stay.

"Catherine, I know it's right after shift. I know you are probably trying to get some sleep, but this is important," I said into the telephone to a very groggy Catherine. The letter Sara left me was still in my hands.

"Nick, is everything okay?" Catherine asked. The panic in my voice was enough to tip anyone off that I wasn't okay.

"I need to quit my job. I'll send you my letter of resignation, but don't expect me to be at work anymore," I said.

"Nick, what's going on? I'm not going to let you quit," Catherine said now sounding fully awake.

"It's Sara. She left," I tried to explain.

"Nick, don't waste your time chasing her," Catherine warned.

"I have to, Catherine. I have to make sure that she's okay," I replied. With that comment, I began trying to think of ways to find Sara. I had to bring her home.


	3. Could Have

"You do understand that this will take time, right?" Mr. Wesley said as he finished scribbling down all the information I gave him about Sara. I reluctantly nodded. I knew that there was no chance of me finding Sara overnight. She was way to smart for that. If Sara Sidle wanted to disappear, Sara Sidle would disappear without a trace.

"I'll call with updates every few days. Tell Jim that I say hi," Mr. Wesley said as I stood up to leave the private detective's office. For the life of me I couldn't remember his first name. I knew that he said it once or twice, but I hadn't been able to focus.

Jim said that this guy was good. He used Wesley to keep tabs on what messes Ellie was getting herself in to. Jim said that I should look for Sara. We both knew that she was way too fragile to be left to her own devices. Sara was self-destructive to say the least, but I tried to picture her as happy and liberated. I tried desperately to make myself believe that Sara was driving somewhere exotic. I tried to imagine that maybe she was excited about something. God knows, Sara never had much in her life to get excited about.

I drove to her apartment. The door was unlocked, so I walked into the nearly empty housing. She left all the things that she couldn't move. I flopped down on her couch. It was where we watched so many movies and endless hours of CourtTV and the Discovery Channel. Very occasionally, Sara would give in and watch Animal Planet with me. The couch felt different. It didn't feel as comfortable as it did when Sara was here.

I wandered through the furnished apartment. I couldn't help but noticing the message scrawled on the whiteboard hung on the fridge. _Let some deserving family have my furniture – it should be used to give someone a fresh start. Javier, thank you for being so kind to me for seven years. Thank you for understanding that I needed to leave Vegas. –Sara Sidle_. I stood by the refrigerator transfixed by her messy penmanship. Part of me wanted to take the whiteboard home with me. It made me feel closer to her.

I reluctantly left the apartment. I walked downstairs to where the outdoor mailboxes were located. I ran my finger across her name plate. It felt cold despite the arid desert air. It probably only felt cold because she was so far away. That's how my frazzled mind reasoned the temperature disparity.

"I thought I'd find you here," Warrick said as he walked toward me, "Catherine called me. She thought I might have better luck than she did."

"I'm going to go find her. I don't care if you, Catherine, and Grissom think I'm being stupid," I replied. I noticed that my voice sounded flat. It didn't sound like I had any emotion left in me. It startled me that I could momentarily hear my accent fade into a depressed, monotone oblivion.

"What if Sara doesn't want to be found? What if she needs time to start sorting out her life?" Warrick asked. He didn't dare move any closer to me. I felt my hands instinctually form fists at my side. I tried to tell myself that no matter how mad I got, I couldn't hit Warrick.

"Grissom did a real number on her. What if she starts drinking again?" I challenged. I could feel my fists clench tighter with each word.

"I don't know. Maybe we should just give her some room before we start looking," Warrick replied.

"I can't, Rick. I can't let her leave like this," I replied. I quickly pulled on my sunglasses to hide the emotion that threatened to take over my body. I had been so strong for the last few hours. I had tricked my brain into waiting to get upset until I was in the safety of my own home. I had expertly tucked away slight falter in the cadence of my voice.

"It's not your decision, man. I don't want her to go either, but I don't was Grissom to keep hurting her. Sara needed to leave Vegas," Warrick said gently. I walked away before I could say anything to hurt him. I walked away before I could tell Warrick that I loved Sara, but I was too damn scared to let her know. I needed to get away from Warrick before I melted down.

My cellphone rang nearly constantly on the drive home. Everyone from Catherine to Brass called. I didn't answer a single one of the calls. I didn't have anything to say to them. I sure as hell didn't want them to tell me that my search was going to be fruitless. I tried desperately to cling to some kind of faith. In the past years, my faith in religion, people, and goodness had been ground down to something barely recognizable. I definitely wasn't the same happy-go-lucky CSI 1 that came to Vegas to be a great criminalist. I had changed into something darker . . . someone that I struggled to understand.

I retreated to the darkness of my bedroom and pealed my clothes off. I slid under the sheets and tried to will myself to sleep. Instead, I watched ceiling fan make predictable, tight circles. It didn't distract me as I had planned. I was haunted by images of Sara. I could see how the tears fell down her face yesterday. I could picture the first time I met her. God, she was beautiful. She would always be beautiful. I wished I would have been smart enough to tell her that years ago.

I wish I could have saved her . . . before it came to this.


	4. Bethesda

Author's Note: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE. Courtesy of an extremely slow day in the ME's office (and my first full day off this month!). Hope you like the update.

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Most days were spent sitting at home waiting for the telephone to ring. James Wesley had been good about getting me frequent updates. I began to look forward to his calls, though they were often times fruitless.

I spent hours trying to think of where Sara would run to. I worked with her for seven years, but I knew so little about where Sara came from. I knew she grew up in California, and Sara went to school at Harvard. I knew she dreamt of working for the FBI. Sara always said that she wanted to travel. After all, she didn't have anyone to tie her down to a particular city. I could never stray that far from Texas. I could never travel more than an infrequent vacation or conference. Part of me envied her freedom, but a larger part of me felt sorry for her.

I hadn't gone back to the crime lab. Catherine, Grissom, and Ecklie have left tens of messages on my answering machine. Catherine called to tell my machine that she put me on a leave of absence. She said she could give me a month, which would use up all my paid vacation time. She begged me to come back to the lab. Catherine had gone so far as to promise to help me look for Sara. I didn't know whether to feel touch or be repulsed. Catherine hated Sara; after Eddie's murder, Catherine hated Sara, blamed Sara, and took years worth of hatred out on Sara. She had effectively used Sara as a bargaining chip. I chose to be repulsed.

I spent hours on my computer trying to track Sara. I checked obituaries daily. I spent hours calling crime labs across the country to see if Sara had applied for a position. They all promised to call me if she did, but I knew the memory of those promises would fade the moment word of a DB rolled through the doors. I read news reports about accident victims. I had gone so far as to try to have Sara listed as a missing person. Brass gently told me that he couldn't. The circumstances she left under weren't mysterious enough.

The rest of my days were devoted to playing the 'what if' game. I tortured myself endlessly about how I should have treated Sara. I spent hours wondering what it would be like to hold her in my arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. I dreamt of what it would be like to make love to her. I tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up with Sara's head rested on my chest. The closest I would ever come was when I helped Sara to her feet after she tripped while running. She let me examine her badly scraped knee. I could see the tears well in her eyes, but she refused to cry. I asked if she wanted me to kiss her 'boo-boo.' Sara smacked me in the shoulder before laughing. That was so long ago.

I didn't cry when Brass, Greg, or Warrick come to visit me. I didn't really talk to them about Sara either. It hurt to talk about her. Physically, it caused my chest to tighten. It made it impossible for me to breathe. Emotionally, it made me fall to pieces. I chose to cry only when I knew no one would see me. I didn't want them to ask me why I was crying. I didn't want to have to tell them that I waited too damn long to tell Sara that I loved her. I told her that I loved her every night, but the problem was that she was gone . . . she would never hear my admission.

"Nick, she's in Washington DC. She's applying for a job at the FBI. She's applied for a few different government job . . . law enforcement, secret service, forensic research. Just a whole gamut of things," Wesley said.

"Thanks. Keep watching her for me," I replied before I hung up the telephone. I stuffed some clothes into a duffle bag. I called my mother to tell her that I was taking a vacation. I told her that I would call her as soon as I got home. She didn't seem worried. She wished me a safe trip. My mother asked me to tell Sara hello. My mother liked Sara; my mother like how Sara found the coffin that I was buried in. My mother was impressed that Sara dug through the dirt with her bare hands. Sara's fingertips were rubbed down to the bone, but my mother said that didn't stop her. I couldn't remember if I ever thanked Sara for saving me.

I booked a flight to DC. I waited uncomfortably at McCarren for four hours before the flight left. It gave me more time to think about Sara. I wondered if she would come back with me. I wondered if she would let me find her.

Hours later, I arrived in a city I had been to only twice. I arrived with only a duffle bag in my hands; I neglected to think about lodging, food, and all the necessities. I stood in the busy concourse wondering if this was a bad idea. Just because she applied for jobs didn't mean she was even in DC yet.

I roamed the monuments and parks praying that I might run into her. Normally, the grandness of the monuments and beautiful of fresh, pink cherry blossoms might captivate me, but they blurred into the background. I fixated on every woman. I search their faces for Sara. I walked for hours before checking into a hotel room that I couldn't afford. I laid on the white linens wondering if I would go home empty handed.

I knew Sara would find some kind of work in Washington. I knew she would be a prime candidate for the FBI. I rationalized that although Washington DC was a busy metropolis, I would eventually run into Sara if I moved here. I might see her in a grocery store or a restaurant. I might hear that she is lecturing at one of the many local universities. My pipedream made it easier for me to fill out applications at local crime labs.

"Nicky, her credit card was used in DC yesterday. Don't you dare tell anyone that I had Archie hack into her information. Don't you dare give up everything you have in Vegas to chase her," Catherine said bitterly. I replayed the message several times. I figured Catherine must have gotten the paperwork from Bethesda. I had successfully become a member of their crime lab. I applied for nightshift so I could search for her during the day.

I called my mother to say that I was taking a job in Maryland. She feigned excited, but actually congratulated me when I told her that this was an opportunity for me to advance professionally. I also reminded my mother that I was ready to meet a smart girl . . . a smart, career-minded girl to start a life with. It was a tiny white lie. I was going to find Sara so I could start my life with her.

I found an apartment near work. I stood in the middle of the empty living room and stared at its enormity. Two days later, I flew back to Vegas to frantically pack up my life. Greg and Brass were the only ones to come by and offer their help. Warrick told me that I was giving up my life to find her. I disagreed; I wasn't going to be happy without her. I was miserable without her.

I was willing to go to any lengths to find Sara.


	5. The Longest Year

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you guys are ready for some hardcore angst. This chapter ended up being a little heavier than I normally write (which means it is extremely angsty). I promise that Sara will be back in Vegas within the next few chapters. Happy reading. -Jac

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The days seemed to blur into one and another. The seasons changed from spring to summer to winter, but I felt like my life was on hold. It wasn't that I hated Bethesda or my coworkers, I just longed for Vegas in a style that was similar to three years ago. I wanted it to be before the Sara-Grissom bullshit, before coffins, and before I felt vulnerable again. It was so easy to wish for yesterday because the future seemed too uncertain for my liking.

I liked my job in Bethesda. I liked all the new technology that would pass through the lab. MIT sent us new gadgets every couple months to try out on cases. My new boss was impressed with my curiosity; he always let me have the first crack at the new technology. I spent most of my time working on fiber evidence in the lab. I rarely went out to the scene of the crime. Bethesda was much more compartmentalized then Vegas ever was. Each of the crime lab investigators was an expert in their field rather than a pseudo-expert in many different fields.

Greg had come to visit once. He and Brass were the only ones that kept in regular contact with me. Catherine and Grissom thought I was stupid. Warrick thought that all the stress had finally gotten to my head. It made me feel lonely because I was closer to them than I ever was to my family.

I worked side-by-side with criminology interns from Georgetown. I finally figured out why Sara had loved teaching Greg. It was a lot like passing on a legacy. It was a new fulfillment that I never felt in Vegas, but it in no way made me miss Vegas any less. It just helped the time pass a little quicker.

I often took the students to different restaurants in DC to discuss the journal articles I had assigned as readings to supplement the knowledge they were gaining in the lab. We read a number of Grissom's articles on forensic entomology; it made me miss Grissom a little less despite all his faults. I always scanned the restaurant before sitting down; I prayed that one of these times I would see her.

I had envisioned the joyous reunion a million times. I had pictured myself asking her why she needed to leave like that . . . asking her if she missed me. I felt compelled to thank her for saving my life so many years ago. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. The scene played through my mind a million times; a million times I felt heartbroken after the daydream was over.

"You should really consider giving this a rest, Nick," Brass gently warned. He had done a credit check on Sara; there were no credit cards or loans in her name. It meant one of two things; Sara was either an FBI agent, or Sara was dead. I had been faithfully checking the obituaries for weeks, so I was sure that it wasn't the second option.

"I like Bethesda . . . I like DC," I half-heartedly replied. I knew I was lying; I'm sure that Brass knew that I was lying.

"Nick, it's been nearly a year. You've chased leads to Boston and Chicago. You need to start moving on with your life. Sara would want that," Brass coaxed.

"It hasn't felt like a year," I replied. _It's felt a lot longer than a year, I thought._

"It's time to come home," Brass replied.

"I know," I replied.

"I'll talk to Catherine about rehiring you," Brass said.

"Thank you," I replied.

Another month passed before the good-bye parties and lunches began. My interns took me out to lunch and told me that I was a good teacher. My coworkers organized a pot-luck lunch. I was surprised that it was hard for me to leave Bethesda. When I packed up my apartment, I felt like I was leaving part of myself there.

I stood in the airport lobby. I took a deep breath before walking up to the ticket counter to claim my bags. My voice waivers as I told the lady behind the counter that I was going to Vegas for business rather than pleasure. The lady said that it was a shame. I just nodded.

The flight was long and uneventful. I spent hours torturing myself about feeling like I was going backward rather than moving forward. Going home to Vegas seemed like I was taking a big leap backward. I wouldn't be any closer to finding Sara; I wouldn't be any closer to getting my life in order. Midway through the flight, I wanted to go back to Bethesda, but I knew that wasn't the answer either.

I wasn't sure if there was even an answer to my question. _How the hell do I move on?_ I wasn't sure if a city full of gambling, drugs, and easy women were the answer. I had proven weak a number of times; I didn't want to fall into that trap again. That's why Bethesda was safe. I was surrounded by uptight, career-driven women. I wasn't afforded with opportunity to go astray. My wildest nights were the ones in which I let my interns take me out for beers at a bar . . . it had female bartenders that would dance on the bar. Bethesda was tame compared to Vegas. The crime was even tame compared to Vegas. It felt safe.

"Welcome home," Brass said as he leaned up against a cement pillar in the concourse.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I followed him through the airport.

It signaled the end of one of the longest years in my life.


	6. Time

A/N: Just a little more angst . . . I promise just a little more.

Things settled down. Things always have this way of settling into a rather unsettling routine. I went to work; I came home. I became like a zombie in so many different ways. The neon glow of the Strip didn't fascinate me. The beautiful women wearing next to no clothes began to look more like whores then Friday night dates. Catherine said that I had grown up, but I knew that I was more depressed than anything else.

Warrick spent years trying to set me up on dates. Each date had the same outcome; the girl wasn't Sara. They could be funny and smart, but they couldn't hold a candle to her. The two relationships that I didn't unwillingly engage in turned out to be complete fiascoes.

Mandy, a cocktail waitress, was the first unsuspecting woman to try to catch my attention. She had long blonde hair and big blue eyes. She liked to watch football. Mandy was a gifted poker player. Everyone loved her, but me.

Mandy said that I was emotionally detached from the world. She went so far as to say that I needed some kind of professional help. It was a statement that my mother would echo for years. Mandy left after four months of nearly constant fighting. She left with tears falling down her face. _Why aren't I good enough for you? Was I only a good lay to you? That's all you ever treat me like, she screamed as she slammed my apartment door._ I never heard from Mandy again. Warrick never stopped talking about Mandy.

Gina was the second woman to try to settle me. Her efforts more than blew up in her face. It was probably the most public break up I could ever imagine. Gina was a school teacher. Years ago, I would have married her without a second thought. She loved children and animals. Gina knew what she wanted and went after it. She went after me so aggressively that I became hostile towards her. _How dare she think she's better than Sara, I thought as Gina told me once again that I needed to move on._

She came to the lab with cupcakes to celebrate my birthday. Gina was in her early thirties; she didn't realize that there comes an age when people just want the birthdays to stop. At forty-five years old, I had already stopped counting years ago. Catherine asked me if I was going to marry this one. I replied with a snippy 'hell no.' Gina unfortunately heard my reply. She threw one of the cupcakes at me. _I tried to make you happy. You are just so damn miserable. I can do so much better than you, Gina yelled. _Catherine told me to go after her; I sat in my chair picking cupcake remnants off my shirt. Catherine told me that I was a miserable son-of-bitch that should have stayed in Bethesda. Catherine told me it was time to forget about Sara because Sara had already forgotten about me. I called Catherine a bitch and walked out the door. I went back to work after a week of suspension; I went back to work on a different shift.

At forty-seven years old, I had largely isolated myself from the rest of the world. Brass and Greg were my only allies. I talked to Catherine, Warrick, and Grissom only when I needed to. I took a month worth of vacation time to go back to Bethesda each year. There was a quiet comfort about that lab. It brought me a sereneness that I rarely felt in Vegas. It made me wish that I hadn't decided to go back to Vegas. Maybe Sara had the right idea; maybe a fresh start was what I needed to begin to move on with my life.

"I'm leaving. I'm going back to Bethesda for good," I said to Brass.

"For you or for Sara?" he asked cautiously as he watched me clean out my locker.

"For me. It's never been the same since she left. Everyone changed . . . I'm getting so damn sick of change," I grumbled as I placed the last of my person belongings into a box.

"You gave it a good shot. You made it for nine years here. Make sure you keep in touch, kid," Brass said as he laid a hand on my back. I didn't feel like much of a kid anymore.

"I will. Come out to visit once you retire," I replied.

"Like hell I will. I'm going to Palm Springs. I'm going to golf until my arms fall off. Take care of yourself, Nicky. Find yourself someone that will make you happy," Brass said. He took me off guard by hugging me. I could feel my emotions barely containing themselves. I was going to miss Brass, but I wasn't going to miss Vegas.

I watched Brass walk away through blurry eyes. I gathered my box and began to walk the same path that he did. My last day here didn't entail a pot-luck or lunch at a swanky restaurant. My last day was the same as my first, which was the same as every other day.

"Hey stranger," Sara said as she leaned up against my SUV. She hadn't looked like she changed at all in ten years. She didn't look a day older than she did when she left.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said as I approached her.

"Jim hunted me down. He said that you were leaving Vegas for good . . . he also said you called Catherine a bitch," Sara said with chuckle, "Where you headed to?"

"Bethesda, Maryland," I replied, "God, you look good, Sidle."

"You're hair is gray," Sara commented as she watched me set down my box.

"I've been contemplating dying it," I replied.

"I kind of like it. It makes you look distinguished. Let's go have supper. I'm starving . . . you need to tell me about this whole calling Catherine a bitch thing," Sara said with a smirk.

We got into my SUV and drove to that same nasty diner that we used to frequent. After ten years of nothing but change, today felt like we had somehow managed to turn back the hands of time.


	7. Frozen

"Why Bethesda?" Sara asked as she continued to look over the menu. She was still slow as ever when it came to choosing what she wanted to eat.

"I did a brief stint there about ten years ago. I've gone back for a month every year since. I like it there. MIT sends the lab all sorts of neat gadgets that Grissom would never dream of buying," I commented.

"Vegas is one of the only old-school crime labs left. I can't imagine doing everything by hand anymore," Sara replied with a gentle smile, "You haven't asked where I disappeared to."

"I don't really care as long as you are happy, Sar," I replied trying desperately to smile at her. Inside, I was dying to know where Sara had been.

"I've kept an eye on you from the day that I left Vegas. It was easy since I've been at Quantico the entire time. I hear you're a good teacher," Sara replied.

"Really?" I asked.

"I've had a few Georgetown students pass through the forensic science program. They speak very highly of you," Sara replied with a smile.

"I'm sorry I left the way that I did, Nick," Sara said after what felt like an eternity of silence, "I've never been good at good-byes."

"Sar, you did what you needed to. You look happy," I commented.

"You look miserable," Sara replied a little two quickly, but it was something I was already aware of, "Jim said you never really moved on."

"Exactly what did Jim tell you?" I asked.

"Nothing that I didn't know already. I left because I knew I could never be happy with another man until I was able to be happy with myself. It's taken me a long time, but I'm finally okay with being Sara Sidle. When I left, I thought I was falling in love with you. I was afraid that things with us would head down the 'Grissom' path. I wanted to wait until I was better. I guess it took me a long time to fix myself," Sara rambled, "I guess I never really moved on either. What are you ordering?"

It was like Sara to say something serious then follow it up with a question that was completely off topic. It almost made me laugh.

"Nick, I remember the way that you used to look at me. You made me feel special. I never forgot that," Sara said softly with a distinct hitch in her voice.

"What happens next?" I asked.

"That's completely up to you, Nick," Sara said with a smile. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"How has everything been at Quantico?" I asked. Sara smiled again.

"A lot of work with a lot of discipline. It's kept me away from alcohol, tobacco, and all the other vices that I picked up in Vegas. I got the help I needed," Sara said softly trailing off at the end. I knew about the alcohol and cigarettes, but I couldn't venture a guess as to what the other vices were.

"You look a lot healthier," I commented.

"It would have been hard to look worse than I did when I left," Sara replied.

"I know. I would have liked to help you," I said.

"This was something I needed to do myself, Nick. I needed to figure out who I was. I spent so long pretending to be what Grissom wanted. I think I lost myself somewhere a long the way," Sara replied, "I got sick of living for him. I was angry . . . I was hostile . . . I was self-destructive."

"I know. You never told me why things changed," I commented.

"He told me that he could never love me. Grissom told me to stop trying to please him. At the time, I really didn't know how to do anything else. I guess I rebelled kind of like I never did when I was a teenager," Sara replied with a small laugh.

"Everything changed when you left," I commented.

"Things need to change occasionally. Las Vegas was never a healthy environment for me. I don't think it was really ever healthy for any of us," Sara replied.

"I know. I hate Vegas. I came back because Jim and Greg thought that this was where I needed to be. I thought of my coworkers as family," I replied.

"They were family, but everyone began to grow apart even before I left," Sara replied. She was right. Things were never the same after all the shift changes. Power changed Catherine. Catherine's power over Warrick changed him. I was caught in the struggle between Catherine and Grissom. Greg had hardened into a man that I sometimes no longer recognized. "I think Jim is the only one that stayed the same."

"He has. I think he's the only constant thing in Vegas," I replied.

"I'm sorry," Sara said so softly that I could barely hear her.

"You're here now. You're happy that's all that ever really mattered to me," I replied, "I just wish you would have let me know that you were okay."

"I'm sorry," Sara said again.

"It's okay. When do you leave?" I asked.

"Tomorrow morning. You need some help packing?" Sara asked.

"I'm already packed. I've been staying in a hotel for the last few days. What flight are you on?" I asked. I was impressed at the ease of our conversation. I always thought it might be a little more awkward than it actually was.

"The same one you are. Jim thought you might need some help unpacking your apartment," Sara said, "I'm not much of an organizer."

"I remember what your apartment looked like. I know you aren't much of a cleaner, either," I replied.

"Got me there. How about it I watch you unpack boxes?" Sara offered.

"I'm sure I can find something for you to do," I teased.

"I'm not exactly a domestic," Sara warned.

"That's okay. I'll let you buy supper," I replied.

"So that means I don't get to snoop through all your boxes?" Sara asked.

"You know you will anyways. Some things never change, Sar," I replied. There were so many things that never changed . . . how I felt about her, the comfortable banter, the way she blushed when I complimented her. Some things were just meant to be frozen in time.


	8. Precious

A/N: At last . . . the happy ending to the fairytale. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. -Jac

"What room are we going to tackle next?" Sara asked as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. It was another humid summer day in Bethesda. We went straight from the airport to my apartment. The movers were ready and waiting on us, as were my parents. My mother instantly remembered Sara. My father commented that I looked well. It was something that I hadn't heard him say in years. It was odd that I looked so much worse than my seventy-four year old father.

The four of us spent the day trying to get each of my rooms somewhat assembled so I could go back to work in four days. Sara drove my mother to the grocery store so I could have food in the kitchen. Sara picked up lunch from one of the local delis. I laughed when Sara teased that they didn't have anything double, double animal style. She might not have been domestic by trade, but I knew she still cared about me despite the fact that so many years had passed by.

"When do you go back to work?" I asked as we flopped down on my sofa. The air conditioning had finally cooled the apartment to a temperature that was slightly more comfortable. I had long since sent my mother and father to their hotel with the promise that tomorrow I would take them sight-seeing.

"I still have a few days of vacation. It's in between training classes. It's kind of like my spring break," Sara replied.

"Spring break without bikinis and beaches. Sidle, you really know how to party," I teased.

"I'm too damn old to party, Stokes. I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore," she replied as she closed her eyes. It was already one in the morning. Neither of us planned on being awake so long, but we kept saying we would sleep after the kitchen was unpacked. Little did I know, I had a ton of kitchen supplies that I didn't remember ever purchasing.

"You make it sound like you are eighty," I replied.

"I feel like I'm eighty," Sara retorted.

"Go sleep in my bedroom. I'll take the couch tonight," I instructed.

"I can't move. Your mother can be quite the slave driver when it comes to organizing a bathroom and a spice rack . . . and shopping. She was a woman with a mission today," Sara replied. I knew that my mother was a little on the demanding side. I had always teased Mom about being the original Martha Steward. I watched my mother instruct Sara as to how to properly iron curtains and how to make perfect hospital corners on the bed. Sara had been a good sport all day. My father had even commented that Sara was very, very calm. Years ago, no one would have ever said that about Sara.

"I'll tire her out tomorrow when I take them sight-seeing. That way you can take me out for supper tomorrow night," I replied.

"I thought I would go with you. A lot of the monuments offer limited access to the public. You'd be surprised at what an FBI badge can do," Sara replied. Her eyes were still closed. Her voice began to fade at the end of her sentences.

"Let's get some sleep. Mom wakes up at six in the morning," I said.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sara said as she tried to open her eyes. I scooped Sara up and carried her to the bedroom. It took her by surprise, but she was too tired to fight back. I laid her across the bed.

"Thanks for letting me be here with you," she whispered.

"Thanks for being free slave labor," I teased as I began to retreat from the bedroom.

"Stokes, get in bed. I'm too tired to put any moves on you," Sara teased.

"Are you sure?" I asked as I walked back towards the bed.

"Just get in bed," Sara said.

"So you would put your moves on me if you weren't so tired?" I asked as I laid down next to her on top of all the sheets.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Sara replied.

"Are you flirting with me, Sara Sidle?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," Sara said again.

"Good night, Sar," I said as I kissed her cheek.

"Good night, Nicky," Sara replied.

We woke up the next morning with her body tucked up against mine. My arm hung on the angle of her hip. It was all perfect despite the doorbell waking us from a deep slumber. My mother was waiting to make me breakfast. My father yawned as he waited for me to open the door. My mother told me that I shouldn't have worked Sara so hard yesterday. _The poor girl looks exhausted, Nicholas, my mother said as Sara dragged herself out into the kitchen in search of coffee._ It made me laugh because I wasn't exactly the one that worked Sara to death.

The day passed uneventfully. My mother and father were impressed at the grandness of Quantico when we took Sara to her apartment so she could shower and change. Sara called up one of the other forensic instructors to see if they were available to take my parents on a tour of the campus. My mother nearly fainted when a young cadet came to the door and called Sara 'Agent Sidle.' I slept in her bed for an hour and a half while my parents toured the campus. My mother never did stop talking about her trip to Quantico. My father said she told all the women in her bridge club about how she got to meet an FBI agent. Apparently, Sara and I had become the talk of the town in Texas.

The rest of the day was spent touring Washington DC. Sara occasionally flashed her badge to get us behind the scenes at some of the monuments. We got to meet the head of security at the white house. Apparently, he and Sara took their firearms recertification test at the same time. Agent Sellers said that she was a dead on shot. My father appeared impressed. Agent Sellers took us to see some of the areas that the public is not privy to. My mother marveled at the grandness of the kitchen and the number of chefs and assistants running about.

My mother and father talked about Sara for weeks after they left Bethesda. My sister even called up to warn me that my mother didn't want me to screw this relationship up. My mother called me weekly to see if Sara was doing well. She would often times ask about Sara before she would inquire about my well-being. My father said that he was glad that I was finally happy.

I like to think that Sara was also happy. I hoped that maybe I could make her happy for a long time. I was able to gage the status of our relationship by how much of her stuff managed to accumulate at my apartment and how often Sara joined me and my interns for journal club meetings. Within the span of two years we began to look at larger apartments and condos to accommodate what we had accumulated as a couple.

"So this does have a happy ending?" Brass asked as he approached me as I leaned up against a cement pillar in the concourse of Regan International Airport.

"It does," I replied as I lead him through the maze of people to the baggage carousel. It definitely hadn't been the traditional fairytale where the prince saves the princess, and they live happily ever after. It had been much more tumultuous than that, but it had been worth waiting for.

"Now, this father of the bride thing I'm doing . . . it doesn't involve any shopping or girl crap," Brass said as I grabbed his luggage. I knew Brass was secretly thrilled that he was the one that was chosen to give Sara. We all knew he would never have the chance to give Ellie away.

"No, my dad, Greg, you, and me are going golfing today while Sara and my mom finish orchestrating the wedding," I kidded.

"She's going to make a beautiful bride, kid," Jim said, "Warrick, Catherine, and Grissom were a little surprised that they weren't invited."

"There's a little too much bad history there. You and Greg were the only ones that didn't spend ten years pushing me into a life that I didn't really want," I commented.

"How big is this shin-dig?" Brass asked.

"Completely out of control. Between Sara's coworkers at Quantico, my coworkers in Bethesda, my family, and a handful of our students . . . it's getting to be a little overwhelming," I replied as I put the suitcase in the back of my car.

"You take care of her," Brass said as we began to drive toward his hotel.

"I didn't spend twelve years waiting to let this slip through my hands," I replied.

"Time is precious, kid. That's what I've learned . . . never forget it," Brass replied.

"I won't."

FIN


End file.
